18. Patrick

Chapter eighteen

Patrick

A s we headed into week three, I became more and more despondent regarding Allan's ability to pierce through the bubble leading into his magical self.

He'd described it as a sphere with a hard shell, one that pushed him away.

He had adequately mastered the ability to pull upon the element and reshape liquid into very basic forms, but nothing more.

He needed access to that spot in order to pull upon a wealth of power that would center his mind and allow him to create far more complex magical creations.

Allan stood on the beach, his toes wiggling in the sand, his eyes closed, arms outstretched as a water serpent did figure eights around his body. It sounded impressive, but the serpent equated to nothing more than an undulating rope of lake water.

"Okay. Stop the water from circling you and bring it in front of you. I want you to fine tune the design. Create fins, eyes, ears, a snout all while continuing to hold the water to your command."

"That's freakin' impossible," Allan sneered.

I gave him a snotty glance back, pulled up my own water dragon, and took less than a couple of minutes to create a miniature creature complete with leathery wings, bone spurs, and serpentine tail with a barbed end, scales, blinking eyelids, and a snout that puffed out steam.

And all of it see-through as it was nothing but water.

Cocking an eyebrow at Allan, I challenged him.

"Well, I think we all know that's unfair. You've had four hundred years of magic practice."

"Hey. I'm not that old."

"Sometimes."

"Bitchy this morning, aren't we?"

"I'm sorry." Allan dropped the water snake, and as it hit the smooth pebbles that made for perfect skipping stones in the shallow of the lake, the collapsing cascade of water splashed back against us.

Water witches tended to get wet, often, which makes being naked far more practical.

He stomped up the shoreline to park himself on an old tree that had fallen down years ago. It created a nice spot to sit and watch the north shore thunderstorms. I had sat there many nights myself, meditating and contemplating life. If I had been so inclined, I would have cleared the felled deadwood years ago.

Allan took his solace sitting in the shade, hiding from the hot, late-summer sun. His face told more of the story. It wasn't just the heat he attempted to escape from, nor the lack of details in his water serpent.

"I wasn't trying to show you up."

"I know."

"I wanted you to try something more delicate."

"I know that too."

"What's the matter?"

"I'm not succeeding."

"But you are. Every day I see little bits of progress. I know it may not feel that way, but you are improving. For instance, what's that?" I pointed to a shrub on the shoreline.

Allan rolled his eyes but glanced to where I pointed.

"Really? It's buffalo berry, Shepherdia canadensis . They're all over the fucking place here."

"Good. And what is it used for?"

"Originally? Traditional teachings used to say it was good for constipation, treating tuberculosis, swelling, and arthritis, but a lesser-known fact is that it was also used for spiritual cleansing, resetting the communication from the subconscious to the…OMG, that's it."

"Sorry? What?"

"That's what I need to do!"

I glanced at Allan, and then the lightbulbs started illuminating within my own head, finally understanding what he'd latched on to.

"Go get the bucket on the deck by the back door. We're going to need a lot of leaves."

After a couple of hours of collecting leaves and unripe berries, we had more buffalo berry than I had ever collected.

"Now what?" asked Allan.

"We dry some. We can use it as part of a cleansing ritual bath. We can also burn a little of it, but they are notorious for being somewhat fire resistant, and the leaves stink. But just a little bit in a smudge might also help cleanse enough of the soul to allow you access to that sphere."

"Well, then, what the hell are we waiting for?" Allan nearly skipped to the back door of the cabin.

It took us the majority of the evening and a good chunk of the next day to dry what we had collected, and the cabin reeked. But I would have done or tried just about anything to help Allan along.

By the end of the first night, we had enough ground up leaves to make bath bombs. I found a decent recipe stashed away in my book of shadows. I had used it in the past with success which is why I had copied it into my spell book. While I let Allan put that together, I took what was left and created a smudge, including sage, sweetgrass, juniper, the buffalo berry leaves, and lavender. All those items would calm Allan and cleanse his energy and spirit. I added a touch of yarrow to eliminate any toxins.

While Allan made bath bombs, I made incense sticks.

It took the entire evening. This had turned into a two-day project. I began to wonder if the time lost on this had been well spent, considering our impending deadline.

But in truth, I was at a stalemate. I had tried everything I knew to get Allan to open up to his magical source, without any luck.

This exercise boiled down to a last resort. A "grasping at straws" attempt to push Allan into his source of magic.

Allan yawned, then reached his hands above his head and stretched. I could hear his spine cracking as it readjusted.

"You're exhausted. You should go to bed."

"I am tired," he said. "Come with me?"

"Yeah, I'm done." I rolled the current incense stick one more time, smoothing out the surface for an even burn, then packed away everything so Kaos wouldn't find toys to play with in the middle of the night. "You go ahead. I'll be there in a moment."

By the time everything was stashed away, and I had wandered down the hall, I could already hear Allan softly snoring.

He purred more than he gasped for air or buzzed like a chainsaw. His night sounds were calming, and I had grown used to them.

Stripping out of my day clothes, I pulled the duvet and sheet back and slid onto the mattress as carefully as possible so as to not disturb my fledgling.

Humph. My fledgling.

In the space of time between confessing my attraction, and he his own, the marked improvement of his abilities astounded me. We simply couldn't get to that next level. And it was obviously frustrating the hell out of him. And yet, he hadn't bitten back or snapped at me in days. Almost like his anger toward me had evaporated.

I wasn't blind. I knew it was still there, but toward me, not so much. And with the change in his attitude came a gentleness, a kindness, a warmth I always knew was there, but I was finally getting to see it.

And it made me little l love him even more.

He was becoming the responsible adult I knew he could be, even if he didn't see it himself. Hell, he was the one who figured out the buffalo berry idea. Truthfully, I was disappointed in myself for not having come up with it.

The improvements were coming.

And that gradual growth toward the big L rapidly expanded within my heart.

I couldn't let the Fae take him, and being separated from him for an entire year while I went in his place seemed unbearable.

"Perhaps we can do this together," I whispered as I gently wrapped my arm around his chest.

He stopped his purring, snuggling into me, grinding his butt into my crotch, and fitting into me just like a puzzle piece. Then he quietened and resumed his chest rumblings.

I squeezed him, then drifted off to sleep.